Road to Freedom: A 2P Revolution
by Manic Misha
Summary: America's story of independence in his 2P world. Independence is never easy, especially with an abusive father always at his back and this strange mirror... (Colonial Hetalia)
1. Chapter 1

The Road to Freedom

_Authors: Manic Misha and HetaWolf._

_Fandom: 2P Hetalia._

_Characters: Matt, Al, and Oliver._

**_Chapter 1_**

Al had just entered the age of his lower teens, a new age of puberty had just sliced along his vocal chords and made his higher voice drop a few octaves. Matt seemed to begin a lot earlier, already having the scruff of facial hair on his chin! Al always seemed insignificant, but he simply stared in the mirror and poked at his chin wishing for himself to be as manly as Oliver's more adored Canadian.

Oliver was observing the boys as they aged, he knew that their natural desire to move out and explore the world would come to fruition. He noticed that Matt had developed quicker than the other failure that he considered, Al. The boy had come into puberty quite late compared to his brother. Oliver also noted that Matt definitely had more of a spine than the coward that was Al. Hell the child had bouts of pissing his trousers when he was young, and it made him enraged and laugh at the same time. He didn't piss his pants anymore, but more often than not he would cower away when he was disciplined by Oliver, instead of facing his punishment like a man.

Al stood in the mirror and looked at a few acne spots and crooked teeth. Puberty was apparent in him, he even so much as closed the door to lift up his shirt and see if he even had any hair on his chest. He certainly had grown quite a bush on his privates, and that was something he was very proud of. Despite it not being very hairy at the moment, he wanted to impress himself and become the man he always wanted to be. Crimson eyes inspected and looked at every part of him in the single mirror that resided in the house, there wasn't much light in this day and age. He breathed out, wishing that one day he could stop investigating himself to see if he had become better than his own older brother.

Oliver was inspecting the house for any signs of the younger male. He was rather concerned about the fact that Al desired to be alone to himself. He was worried that the boy was going to rebel against him and he knew the first way for a young boy to do that was to discover himself. The key to keeping his imperfect pet was to keep him ignorant or to break him. Of course, breaking the teen would be a dirty, a messy, and an inexperienced affair. In all honesty it would be far easier than trying to keep the teen uneducated.

Al heard the light footsteps through the house, and half of him had an urge to hide—but this was an old timey bathroom. _Where the hell would he go? What if he wasn't doing anything wrong at all? _

Nevertheless, he stood still as he stared in the long mirror that would wiggle and rotate with movement. He wasn't infatuated with himself, but he would spend a lot of time in the mirror. Matt wouldn't play with him, and certainly Oliver wasn't one for it— but one person he did have was himself, and if he could see himself then he would always have a friend.

"Al, poppet..." Oliver's voice finally rang out in a sickeningly sweet way, almost as if a mother was trying to call her child out from hiding after a fierce thunderstorm. "Come now lad, I haven't seen your ... _cute_ face in some time." He strained at the term cute, his face was riddled with imperfection now and his teeth were tolerable; however, the blemishes on his face were deplorable. More often than not, the home Oliver lived in would groan and creek with every footstep on the old wooden floors. Oliver had gone to search the home for the little bastard, it was time for lunch, a growing teen needed nourishment.

Al looked into the mirror and held it close, staring at his own reflection. "... Should I go to him?"

He pouted, almost half-heartedly expecting the image to answer. He looked toward the sound of footsteps, and despite the rolling pit of his stomach clenching for food Oliver knew it wouldn't be worth it in the end. He merely would have to run into the woods later and steal some apples.

Eyes met with his own reflection again, "Maybe if I come to him this time, I'll be considered good?" Although his rebellious thoughts were turning, he certainly didn't want to handle another beating anytime soon.

"Al,… Lunch is getting cold. If you don't come out soon,..." Oliver grinned as he gripped the leather belt around his waist. He was actually enjoying the cowering teen. A rebellious child had to be disciplined! By any means necessary. He also loved having this power over a person; it gave him a sense of control, something that was taken away from him when he was defeated by France.

He was listening now as he lightened his step. Like a feline he lightly toed among the solid floorboards to prevent any sound. He was listening for the soft shallow breaths of the tan little teen that was in his home. He paused, hearing a faint noise, it sounded like a whisper but he couldn't be so sure, the birds were causing a ruckus outside.

"You have till the count of three poppet. Don't make me come find you." He threatened as he kept alert for any noise or movement.

Al wasn't sure how to handle this at all. _The stress!_ _The pressure! __**The rules!**_ He beckoned to hide, but he had to admit he was desperate for attention besides that of a cold mirror. He quickly darted out of his own hiding place and into the hallway before Oliver could finish counting to three. He was wearing brown slacks with an egg white button down that matched with old timey suspenders. That stupid hair on top of his head always hung a little in his eyebrow, only as he looked to Oliver and nodded. "Ready—!"

He choked on his words, "Sorry I'm late,…" He had no idea where his apology came from, but his accent was mixed with British undertones and that of his Cherokee tongue, his pronunciation was different.

He walked cautiously to Oliver.

"Ah poppet! I was getting concerned." He spoke as he saw the boy appear from the bathroom down the hall. He smiled at the teen before him. He looked at his clothes, fairly unstained; he looked at his hands, that **inharmonious** face, his hair. They were all clean much to his displeasure.

"You're actually presentable for lunch." His voice rang in a surprised tone. Usually the child was a mess and deserved punishment, but at this moment, on this day, he had prevented the sadistic Brit from punishing him. '_Dammit_' he thought for a moment, '_maybe at dinner tonight?'_ Hopefully at dinner. He didn't want this mutt of a human being to get any slack.

Al nodded, "Yes, sir..." He always had to refer to his father as that or a simple '_yeah_' would get him punished. Eyes were cautious as he walked past him down the stairs to the dining table. His shoulders were broadening, and as he walked past England, what was this? The nation was as tall as he was. Al paid no mind, not wanting to look him in the eye. A growth spurt had hit him, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last one.

'_When had the bastard mutt got as tall as me?_' He was looking at the teen as he passed him and he looked at how thick he was getting. "If it wasn't for that deplorable face of his." He muttered to himself as he waited till the colony was on the stairs and then he commenced to walk behind him.

As he watched the obedient creature sit down at the table, he couldn't help himself. He was imagining what he could possibly look like without the loose clothing on his body. He stifled the urge to lick his lips at the thought.

"Al,…" Oliver approached the table that Al was sitting at and sat on the opposite side so he could face the teen. The tone seemed casual, but it had a venom lining it as if he was testing the lad, trying to see if he could get the little pup he had raised to start baring his teeth. "What were you doing upstairs?"

"Playing with my imaginary friend" Al spat, Oliver had heard this ridiculous notion many times, but had no idea that he ever played with that particular mirror.

It was Al's excuse to be blunt, to answer the question, and hopefully not be asked about it later. He stared down at the empty spot for the plates, wondering to offer to get Oliver's for him. '_Yeah! That's a great idea_. _Then he can eat the same shit that he laces. Good job Al. Independence_.' He beamed a small smile at his plan, that stupid tooth in his future wasn't quite gone yet. It was just crooked.

"You want me to get you a plate, England?"

"Why certainly if you'd like." Oliver smiled a coy smile. He sat there and observed the overexcited child before him.

Oliver noted that his demeanor had completely changed which meant that the young colony before him had a plan or some devious thought. He was grinning at the naïve child. Did he honestly believe he would lace the food he had prepared for lunch? How many times would Al attempt to poison him, certainly he had realized that he had built up immunity to the drug.

"Make sure to get the correct china, will you?" He asked as he preened himself to make sure he looked presentable.

Al nodded, thinking he was being sneaky and had it all figured out. He reached up to pull the plate from the cupboard as he asked Oliver what he wanted, following his command, he leaned down and attempted to get everything right. With no idea where Matt was off too, he brought it back to the table and laid it before his father figure while he leaned down and gave him an unexpected kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner, pops."

He rang a chime to his pitch, certainly the gruff undertones of his growth spurt kicked in as he spoke. He walked back, not having kissed Arthur on the cheek, unless he demanded it, in ages.

There was certainly something amiss— Al went back to his own plate making, the lean twirl of his hips showed he would certainly be growing out of those clothes soon, the waistband was tightened while the rest of the clothing hung off him like a hanger.

He only got a small portion of each item, and sat back at the table as he halfway wanted to ask where his brother was.

"Oh, what a wonderful surprise." He spoke as he smiled softly from the kiss. He almost shuddered at the voice Al was growing into. If Al's voice could be similar to Matt's deeper voice, he might be able to get over those appalling blemishes on his face, especially if he could make that voice cry out for him.

"Al, dear you should eat some more, you will never be able to get any muscle onto that frame of yours without protein." Oliver spoke as he took a hearty bite of the food he had prepared.

"Do you like it? It's from the large deer Matt ended up hunting for us a few days ago." He spoke in a nonchalant manner. He could tell that Alfred didn't enjoy eating the meat that was often served. He would watch as the boy took each tiny bite of the protein and the inner struggle it caused him and Oliver reveled in that pain.

"I'll need to take your measurements soon; you shouldn't look like a pauper when you're growing into a young man." Inwardly smiling he locked eyes with the colony before him. In all honestly he wanted America nude, bare before him with nothing to hide so he could savage that beautiful land and infect it with impurity.

Al stared at his plate; he had never eaten much since Oliver had poisoned the food that one time. He never could tell if it was poisoned again, but he had some major trust issues with himself and his body. He took tiny bites, hating the gamey taste as he ate his vegetables with no problem. To his own dismay, he forgot all about his plan earlier with Oliver, realizing being nice now and then might not hurt him.

_Pauper? The fuck._ He has was a nation and didn't care how he dressed at the moment. _Not wearing a fucking suit- Certainly no bow ties. No way._

As if he ignored everything England was ranting about, he spoke up. "Speaking of Matt, where is he now?" pouting even, missing his only comrade in this crazy household.

"Come now poppet you can have seconds." He spoke encouraging the scrawny thing to at least have a full lunch before he would run off to god knows where. He wanted that colony to have a little meat on his bones; he didn't want to beat a skeleton! Where's the fun in that? You can't take time to watch the bruises slowly form into horrid dark marks on the skin and then slowly heal until they disappear completely and require a new set to be made.

Yes, scars were a real treat! They would glint and shimmer in the sun, the tissue devoid of any texture, but it was hard to scar a colony that requires a lot of effort and skill. The damn teens heal so fast! He was enamored at the thought of scarring up Al's back leaving lasting reminders of how the first nation was to conqueror that pure land.

"Oh? Matt?" Oliver snapped back into reality at the name of his favorite. "He told me he wanted to go hunting again today. I also asked him to try and find a nice stash of hardwood for the fireplace." He had become aroused at the thought of Al's screaming body begging for mercy as Oliver stood above him. He willed the arousal away as he continued to eat a few more pieces of the meat. "You should really ask your brother to help you hunt, Al." Oliver said as he smiled sweetly at the colony.

Al had to twist a smile. Little to Oliver's knowledge, Matt had already taught him how to hunt. They'd go off together when Oliver was away on business. He had remembered when he killed his first squirrel. Al cried like a baby, only injuring it to the point Matt forced him to put it out of his misery. In his memories, they sat over a small fire as he taught him how to open up the small creature. From this point on, Al swore he had to be vegetarian. There was a lot going on in those animals,...

He simply nodded, "I hope he does." Al played stupid, knowing he couldn't lie at all, but playing stupid came naturally to the teenager.

Eyes set onto the plate as he took a few more small nibbles, the bony collarbone peaked a little from his collared shirt. A few scratches from playing imprinted in his arms, but that distinct bruise over his hand was the most noticeable even on his tan skin. In their studies, Oliver would whack his hand and a ruler like the old school Catholics.

"Oh, Al, won't you eat more?" Oliver encouraged, he was secretly thankful that the teen refused to eat much, many of the poisons he would use to torture the boy would make him vomit if he ingested too much, and easily enough starchy and sweet vegetables would cover the flavor of the poisons easily. More often than not he would make sure not to poison the meats he would serve— he didn't want to poison Matt. If he would, he could lose his hunter, and to lose his hunter would be that he would have to actually buy meat.

"I may have you break down some of the wood he brings home for kindling." He was looking over to the small stove that he used to cook on. "Also, tomorrow I will need you to go to town and pick up a few things."

Oliver had a plan for the teen. He was defiantly going to get rid of the disgusting blemishes on his face before he left, and what better way than with a gorgeous brand new silver straight razor?

Al ate quietly in the awkward silence. The silence was always over the dinner table, but other parts of the household remained the same atmosphere. It was dooming him into the point he couldn't find the courage to eat another bite, but he forced himself. He knew he had to survive as a country and eating is one of those things. Al nodded, looking to the wood pile. "I can do that." He murmured, and then his ear peaked at the sound of him actually going to town!

_I'll actually get to go outside and see people!_ His excitement rose as he could feel adrenaline go through him. "I can go to town for you tomorrow, too!" he was practically grinning.

"Excellent. I really didn't want to bother with the tiresome hike into town." He looked somewhat pleased that the child would be picking up his own tool of torture. He was musing happily to himself over the fact that the colony was eating a little better now. He made note of this and assured himself that he would use this 'reward' concept to his advantage the next time he punished the lad. But first, he must make sure to at least cut off the disgusting markings on the lad's face, not only was it "hopefully" going to help cleanse his face of the devilish boils, but also to make him a lot more appealing to look at.

"Make sure to bring Matt with you tomorrow, he will need to help you haul back all of the supplies I've ordered." He was glaring at the boy, Matt would make sure he couldn't run away, in fact, even though Matt was the strongest as far as physical appearance he often used him as a way to bend Al to his will.

On one occasion as Oliver recalled, he had held a knife to Matt's throat just to make Al eat one of his amazing poisonous desserts, and it was just to see the colony writhing on the floor in abdominal pain hours later as he sat by the fireplace, constantly assuring the child that the "pain will pass soon."

Al nodded quickly. The most pitiful part about this all is that he never considered running away, only once when he was little. The thought had yet to cross his mind, thinking that in this day and age this is how all the children were controlled and punished. Eyes glazed across the scene as he had already finished his meal. Rubbing the back of his hair, he sat nervously. Not really sure what to say after any meal with Oliver at all, but excited for his hero to come home and wisp away the damsel in distress.

Although they always played that as kids, he really needed a hero with the way he was growing up- there was going to be a large smack in the face coming soon that would wake him up, he could feel it deep within his chest.

Oliver was finished with his meal and smiled creepily at the teen across from him eyes closed as if he was pleased, but and the smile was unnerving as always more like a miniature Cheshire cat grin. "I'm glad you were able to join me for lunch Al." His voice seemed genuine and sincere. Oliver moved from the table to the kitchen as he took his plate along with him. He was waiting for Al to bring his plate in as well. There was a basin of hot water waiting on them as he smirked feeling the knife at the bottom of the soapy tub. He was already planning it; as soon as the barefoot Al would approach him he would 'accidentally' drop the knife and pierce his foot, and force him to walk the two miles to town tomorrow.

The door to the house opened abruptly as it swung open hard enough to hit the wall while the sound of clonking and heavy boots lay at the opening. A loud blow to the floor sounded as a heavy container was set on the ground. Grunts could be heard as shoe laces were being untied. Matt hated to be home, at least this home, knowing that Al would be giving him that same smile like he was never going to see him again if he left, like a long and lost puppy.


	2. Chapter 2

The Road to Freedom

_Authors: Manic Misha and Hetawolf._

_Fandom: 2P Hetalia._

_Characters: Matt, Al, and Oliver._

**_Chapter 2_**

Al jumped for joy when he heard the familiar boots, leaving his plate starkly on the table as he ran up to meet Matt and practically jump in his arms before he could even stand up straight from putting on his boots. Kissing his cheek, he held onto his brother so tight as if he were never going to see him again.

"Dammit." The Englishman seethed to himself under his breath. He dropped the knife and let it settle into the sink again as he placed the other dishes into the wash and pulled out a set of china and some silver wear for Matt. Oliver was gritting his teeth as he set the plate and silver pieces onto the table. He walked to the foyer and gave a pained smile to the colony. At this moment the pressure on his teeth would make a normal human's crack.

"Welcome home Matt, how was your hunting trip?" The voice seemed to hover over the young colonies.

Matt had his hands on Al's waist until Oliver walked in. He nodded and looked to the container that had dry ice. "... I brought us back game, so we won't have to buy it, England." His voice had gotten even deeper than last time they saw each other, it had been a few days. The only reason he kept coming back was because of that ridiculously stupid smile Al gave him every time he entered through a doorway.

Al was grinning like a fool at this point. "Come on—I'll help you put it up!" He was so thrilled, if he could bounce the he would have; however, the feeling of someone looming around behind him always gave him the chills.

"How about you let Matt eat, Al?" Oliver looked at the crimson eyed colony before him. _That voice_. **Matt's voice**. He wanted it to all to himself. He adored how masculine that colony was becoming, he wanted to control that dominant creature and he wanted him under him crying out his name, or rather his Nation's name.

"Matt, thank you poppet, I appreciate you working too hard to feed us." He looked at his weapon and smirked seeing blood stains on it and his gear. That beautiful red hue mixed with the darkened specks of dried blood.

Matt shook his head, he was always so unexpressive. It was as if he were perfect in Oliver's eyes, never to smile or frown, but to have such an uninterested attitude as those purple hues lowered. He motioned for Al to take one side of the container as he took the other, and together they carried it to the salt barrels as they were going to preserve it for later. Matt was right in front of Oliver the whole time, knowing good and well that if Al where on the other end of things he'd trip him up on purpose.

_'That little prick_.' Oliver thought as he noticed Matt's purposeful path. _'That clever little bastard, I definitely taught him too much, I have one fucking failure and one that is an Adonis among mortals._' He observed Matt lifting the pack with Al, he noticed the contour of his muscles and his body. Mentally noting that the colony would need new clothes as well.

He decided to give up for the moment on trying to get at Al hoping he could catch Al being a little bit more than just brotherly towards Matt. He was annoyed by the fact that the boys were a little bit more than brothers at some points but he secretly smirked and had to push down his arousal during the moments when he caught them.

He thought about the salt barrels and smirked, he would definitely make sure to use it soon on little Al, salt is known to help prevent demonic interference, so why not use it to help purge Al's face?

Al and Matt sat down the heavy container, as Matt was already started to roll up his sleeves and work on it. Al looked to Oliver, and then to Matt. "Yeah, Matt, why don't you eat first?"

As if to piss off Oliver more, Matt simply spoke, "I ate before I came here." He opened the container as a deer lay in the container, no wonder it was so heavy.

"Ah. Alright then poppet." He spoke as he clenched his fist and after a few moments blood could be seen dripping from his palm.

"Make sure Al helps you gut the poor creature, and if you two make a mess I'll rub your noses in it." He stated as he stalked out of the room. The deer was huge, he was proud of the colony, he wouldn't have to worry about them surviving under any circumstance.

Oliver went to the basin and began to wash the dishes. A task that when alone could allow one to think about the rest of today chores or to eavesdrop on anyone nearby. Luckily the meat cellar had a loose floorboard that allowed him to hear the teens under foot. He was preparing the food so he could use the leftovers on tonight's dinner.

"Matt! Have Al cut the sweet meat _(tenderloin)_ and bring it upstairs!" He barked at the boys.

Matt looked to him, unknowing of the board. "... He hit you any while I was gone?"

Al shook his head, "No, but he said I should go on some hunting trips with you..."

Matt's purple hues glared, "you're a terrible at lying." He huffed, "I told you to stop that shit!"

Al looked down and stuttered, "It's how he show that—you know—he misses you,... that's all—" his fingers nervously playing with the side of the container.

Matt had an urge to hit his brother himself, but only shook his head. "Goddammit, Al..." He motioned towards the deer as they both picked it up and laid it onto the cutting table. Matt was already a master at this, though he still had a little to learn. After many minutes, they were well on their way to perfecting the meat. Al's hands were covered in blood, he enjoyed being taught how to do this; however, only because Matt was right there beside him the entire way. The rest of the chatting was about his trip, saying where he went and how many things he had caught. When Oliver barked about the tenderloin, Al nodded...

"Better following what he says..." He griped, and soon he was up the stairs walking towards Oliver with a large plate of the meat.

"Ah, how lovely." He spoke as he smiled at Al. He looked over the meat as he took some of the water that was left in the rinsing basin and dipped it into a bowl to rinse off the meat, as he continued to clean the cuts, he frowned.

"You didn't cut this out." His voice with distinct venom to it rang out. He glared at the teen as he picked up the fillet knife nearby. "Prove to me that you cut these pieces of meat out... Or I'll believe that Matt cut it out and that you disobeyed me."

Al stepped back a bit, holding up his hands. "He helped me, but I did half of it!" He held up his hands, backing up more. Those fingers had blood sprayed on them; it looked like he had been digging in the deer. Eyes were immediately scared; mouth agape as he could feel himself shaking in his boots.

"I had to have help! I'd had never cut tenderloins of a deer before!"

"He could of showed you, but I can tell that skilled hands cut this meat." the sentence came out in a low growl. "Tell me where the tenderloins are located exactly." this was his test, if he failed he was going to have 'hands on' practice in the form of him being the deer and Oliver teaching him. Smirking inwardly he was backing the cowering colony into a corner.

The American breathed out heavily as his hands shook. "Be—behind the spine! I mean like! The short loin is under the spine! Right—right—!" His head was spinning, "and the long one is above the back strap!" Al's heart raced, the adrenaline surging through him while those crimson eyes were locked onto the hand holding that shiny knife.

"Ah. And what is found on the inside of the deer right, beside the spine?" He stepped inches from the young nation until their faces were mere centimeters apart. "Hm? What's it called? I adore the nickname they give to it." He licked his lips as the colony cowered.

Al gulped heavily, pressed to the wall already as he stared at Arthur. He had no idea what the answer was! In his memory, he found himself staring at Matt's eyes the entire time, lost in them from his infatuation to pay attention! Breathing out shakily, "I—I—I don't know..." He found himself closing his eyes like a coward.

"The one on the inside behind the innards is also called a loin, but I enjoy it more when it's called sweet meat, it helps cushion the deer's innards from impact." He whispered as his mouth was right beside his ear.

"Remember Al..." He plunged the knife into his shoulder. "A sheep pinned by a wolf that cries out, can wake the sleeping lion, but it can have its life ended before the lion can rescue it…"

Al screamed loudly, but quickly was covered as he gritted his teeth. The send of pain through his body as the nerves were sliced from the knife. Blood began pouring down his shoulder as his hands grabbed Oliver's hips in attempt to shove him away. Tears roll down his cheeks, hands slowly losing grip as whimpers and whines were heard between his gripped lips.

Oliver pulled it out with a swift jerk of the hand. "Oh my, let me get you another shirt Al." He spoke as he tossed the knife into the basin and took the blood covered plate and slung its red contents onto the teen. "Oh my ,I'm such a klutz. I'm **sorry,** Al. I'll be right back with a fresh shirt." He was giddy as he headed to the colony's room upstairs.

Al was dripping with blood, the entire tenderloins smacked onto him as he held the boned meat in his hands and dropped to his knees, shaking and whimpering like a scared puppy as Oliver merely went upstairs. Bits of blood ran down his face, not sure to run or stand his guard— _Did he deserve this? Was this really love? Was this really how he was supposed to act?_

Oliver returned soon after as he sat the fresh shirt on the table and took the pieces of meat and picked them up. "Come now, take off that filthy shirt." He looked at the pieces of bandaging fabric he had in his hand. "Here, let's get this bandaged up." He placed the bandage and then wrapped it extremely tight. He would put extra pressure on the aching wound and made sure just to rub a little of the deer's own blood into the wound as well. "There—all fixed." He spoke as he smiled.

He went to the wash basin and got the cleaning cloth wiping down every bit of the colony besides his face. He picked up the shirt and unfolded it as he waited for Al to clean his face.

Al wasn't sure to be thankful or to just stare in horror. His body was limp by this time, used to taking the abuse and being a toy—like he was part of his doll collection. Eyes stared at every move he made until they ached and were tired of watching, fixating on a certain small fly on the floor. It was something he was accustomed too, finding other things to think about to avoid the pain. The blinding strain of the constant tight wrap on his shoulder only made him cringe. He took a hand to wipe his own face, or at least smear the blood off.

"Here you go." He handed the boy the shirt and smiled a tender smile like a mother would give. If your mother was sadistic bastard who just shoved a fillet knife into your shoulder and smear deer blood in it.

"Go along now and help your brother. And _thank you_ for the deer loin." He smiled as he turned to the meat that was rinsed off again and started rubbing a seasoning onto it. "This is going to be delicious."

Al grabbed the shirt, putting it on with only one hand. He couldn't get the other hand to work properly because of his shoulder, sighing as he could only find himself being beaten down every day. "Christ,..." he cursed under his breathe, whimpering as he stood on his own two feet.

"Would you like potatoes for dinner tonight?" He spoke as he looked at the colony. He hadn't caught the curse that he had said. He was cleaning up some other vegetables for a vegetable medley. He was humming contently as if he was a cat who had cornered a rabbit and made it scream before releasing it only to chase it down again.

Al was whimpering, he attempted to stand. "I don't give a shit what you make for dinner!" He screamed, getting off the floor with one hand on the ground, the shoulder attempting to not touch anything. His rebellious side had kicked in, tired of the punishment.

"Fine then." He scoffed as he listened to him walk away. Had he been too harsh? No certainly not at least he hadn't cut off his manhood and turned him into a woman. He sighed, at the moment uninterested in preparing anything but the vegetables and throwing them into a pot filled with water so they can blanch as he walked outside and out into the front yard to collect some of the autumn fruit on the trees.

Al stared at the basin with the blade inside it. If he could only grab it and get his revenge—_wait, what? Revenge? Could he actually do it? Oliver was his father— Oliver loved him. Oliver raised him when he had no one. Matt didn't want him. Oliver had to __**deal **__with him._ Eyes affixed on the shiny metal underneath the water, grabbing it and putting it in the back pocket of his suspenders as he quickly limped up the stairs. At least he could have it as a backup plan if anything.

Oliver was humming a hymn of some sort as he entered the house again. He had managed to pick several peaches from the large tree outside. He wanted to make a desert but not something that he would really have to put a great deal of effort into. He was peeling the peaches in a fashion that was like tearing fur hide from flesh until he had nothing but cut fruit. He then mixed the necessary ingredients into a baking dish and set it into the brick oven, a costly but very efficient household commodity.

"Matt! Are you almost done!?" Oliver yelled from the top of the stairs.

Matt groaned, that manly tone making him sound like he was already much older than he was. "YEA' I'M GETTING THERE IF YOU WOULD QUIT BUGGING ME OLD MAN." He could be heard through the house, but with that mysterious floorboard he could heard his scruffy Adonis mumble.

Al was tucking the blade under a baseboard in the room. He might not could lie, and he might have been a coward, but _goddamn_ that man could steal and hide. He put it back, only sliding his body to sit on his bed. A hand grazing the shoulder, realizing his arm was turning blue from the circulation being cut off! Eyes went to the baseboard, grabbing a razor as he cut the strips of gauze straight off, blood beginning to poor from the un-clotted wound.

"Alright you moody thing!" Oliver yelled back as he groaned. He loved that teen and he smirked. Al certainly was making him bothered as well, challenging him like that and cursing at him. He knew there was something wrong with him because he often abused his boys, but he couldn't help it he loved hearing them scream, squirm, and beg to him as if he were a god since he was already an empire he couldn't get any more powerful.

Canada grunted, going back to his job of cutting the meat. Al was quick to travel back to his mirror, staring and sitting as he fixed his own wound. He had used the razor to rip some of the bed sheets to wrap his wound properly. "He never knows how to clean a wound properly..."

Al could never add it up in his mind that Oliver never **tried** to clean it right way. He never questioned what he should have, and when he looked in the mirror there was even more acne on his face than before! The stress and blood never did any good! He couldn't take it anymore. Those eyes stared at himself in the mirror, then focused on fixing his shoulder. "Should be good by tomorrow," He grunted, "Maybe in a week."

Oliver was sitting in a chair as he listened to Al mull about upstairs. Then he picked up one of his many books and began reading like usual. Now at these moments Oliver would look and act like a normal sane person, in fact when Al and Matt were younger they would sit beside him, he never knew why but he would often feel Al lay against his leg and somewhere in the recesses of Oliver's horrid soul he would enjoy the young colony's little bouts of genuine love.

Oliver had always wanted the responsibility of taking care of colonies and now he often thought about them eventually leaving and him being all alone again. That was one thing he couldn't allow. He kept them here, afraid, and reliant on him, he was their father and he would remain their father.

The heavy clunk of boots could be heard, Matt coming in the room with blood covering his hands as some was stained on his shirt and a few beads on his face. "It's all done, old man. Can I clean up?"

"Are you sure you want to? You know you will only get dirty later." He spoke as he turned the page. He didn't look up at the man that stood looking at him. He dog eared the page and sat it down on the end table. "Shall I run some warm water for you?"

Matt nodded, "Yeeeeah—" Turning to see a few spots of blood on the floor, only worrying about where Al had went to and what that scream was about earlier. He sighed, rubbing the scruff on his chin as he only smeared blood even more. "Sorry about lunch, but I'll be eating dinner for you." He wasn't sorry at all, the unexpressive eyes told very little.

"It's alright, it didn't go to waste poppet." He got up from his chair and moved over to the larger colony and smirked. He ran his hands up his shirt and licked the few blood splatters off his cheek. "Run along now. Your brother is waiting upstairs. In fact, why don't you both clean up? I'm making a dessert for Al that he will love." He smirked as he slipped Matt's hunting knife and his spare pocket knife out of his pants and took them with him to the kitchen.

Matt stared as he got the knife, unsure of how to feel— He simply shrugged it off, continuing upstairs. He caught Al talking to the mirror, shirtless and wounded. He felt a sudden anger surge in him, but he shook his head. "Are you talking to that stupid mirror again?"


	3. Chapter 3

The Road to Freedom

_Authors: Manic Misha and Hetawolf._

_Fandom: 2P Hetalia._

_Characters: Matt, Al, and Oliver._

**_Chapter 3_**

Al nodded to the question about the mirror, "Yeah. I've named him Tommy." he replied.

Matt stared in horror, knowing that Oliver had nicknamed his son, Al, 'Thomas' when he was first discovered, thus giving him the nickname 'Tommy' after a while. "... Tommy that was your original name. You haven't went by that in years." Matt breathed out. "Remember, you decided to go by Al after seeing that—"

"**STOP!** MY NAME IS _AL_!" was screeched before Matt could finish his sentence, those red hues beckoning a fight as if he hit a nerve.

Matt shook his head and barked. "Whatever. Did he do that to you?" He pointed to his shoulder.

Al shook his head, then paused. "yeah—" He finally admitted it.

Matt nodded, "Did you fight back?" Al shook his head, "Screamed at him..."

Matt stepped closer and smacked him right across the face, the mirror seeing everything as he stared down at him. "Al! You need to fight back! You need to get angry about it!"

Almost crying, his older brother had never smacked him so abruptly. Matt did it now and then, but this time Al only felt the hot tears flow begin to flow down his face. "I—can't—"

Matt groaned, "Are you going to be his little to-go cup of tea forever? I can't keep standing up for you!"

Al gazed at his older brother, his face soaking in his tone and eyes growing wide as those wet tears were endless. Matt spat at him, "Pathetic..."

Al hugged onto his knees with his good shoulder, allowing his brother to move on ahead and walk outside. Desperately, he grabbed the edges of the mirror and saw his own reflection crying. "I'm sorry..." he paused in his sobs, "I'm sorry Tommy... I'm not strong enough."

Matt was last seen muttering, "Man, I need a walk…"

Oliver was grinning like a madman, he was at pleased as a fox that had snatched the farmer's prized hen. He was so excited in hearing them bicker and the sound of hand connecting with Al's cheek that he had accidentally cut his own palm.

He looked at the bleeding with doe eyes and smiled. Oliver watched the blood ooze from the angry wound and in a moment of pure elation he stuck out his tongue and made a purposeful lick following the trail of crimson and savored the coppery taste of that precious fluid.

"God in Heaven, never take these precious creatures away from me." He spoke to nothing, but the silence in the room. "I've clipped their wings so they can't ever fly away,..." His palm held above his head as blood dropped onto his tongue.

Matt abruptly slammed the door closed. Oliver could see him through the window in the kitchen as his heavy footsteps crunched each and every step of brush and ground. All Matt could feel was a heavyset sting on his heart, never feeling this emotion before in his entire life.

Al muffled cries into his own knees, only sighing as he stared at his reflection. He had to smile between his tears and the blood red handprint, "Tommy... You'll never hurt me, right?" He spoke to the mirror, stroking the cold edge as he pressed his cheek to the glass. Tears strolled down his face even more, the young teenager certainly didn't feel like a man at this point in his life. Crying to a mirror, an old and useless one at that, Al knew if he could have only one friend in the world, it better be himself because he can't leave himself.

Oliver looked out the window and watched the Canadian colony walk away. Running over and jerking it open, he shouted "Matt be back at dinnertime!" The boy continued walking. Oliver looked to his hand and groaned noticing the mess he had made on the wooden windowpane. "Darnit." He grabbed a towel and began wiping off the blood smear before it was able to set in.

He was listening for Al, any sign that he was laying down, or if he was going to come back downstairs. He knew he was expected to eat tonight, even with him being punished earlier.

There was not a peep made, Al merely laid with his back on the floor as he stared at the mirror. Knowing if he lay too long, that Oliver would discover his not-so-imaginary friend, Tommy, he decided not to care from his tired efforts. Eyes rolled into the back of his head, his good hand gripping the bottom of the mirror stand, as he felt connected to Tommy somehow. He didn't know what it was, but he felt safe. Despite the bed being more comfy, he wanted to lay right here, in the cold wooden floor.

Dinner was almost ready and Oliver was setting out the china and silverware. He had wrapped his hand and was making sure that everything was ready and began setting out the vegetables as he was finishing the pan sear on the meat. He looked out the window waiting to see if Matt would actually return. He and Matt had plans and he wasn't going to allow him to get out of it.

Al was hissing under the stinging of the deer blood seeping deeper and deeper into his wound. It was like a permanent itch delving into his body. He never wanted to deal with this pain, but he knew just shortly after dinner, he would be sick to his stomach again via food poisoning. Eyes were hazy as the lunch round had started, making his stomach curl and his body muscles tense. The curling inward of his shoulder only made him cry out in pain, hissing as tears leaked through his eyes. There it was, the all too familiar pain to remind him of his weaknesses.

Oliver's steps could be heard as he approached Al's bedroom. About a year ago, the boys had been split into two separate rooms. Oliver hadn't given an explanation as to why, but it had happened. Oliver knocked on Al's bedroom door and cleared his throat.

"Al, dear. Dinner is ready, so come down and eat. I made peach cobbler." He spoke in a sing song manner, as if he hadn't stabbed his son in the shoulder.

There was no answer, only the sounds of hissing coming from the far end bathroom no one touched. A cry of pain surged through Al again, as he was gripping his stomach with his good arm and gritting teeth. All he knew was pain, this is all he ever would know. Eyes would go in and out of focus, feeling his body attempting to heal the damage quickly was even more painful! _I hate where I am! The pain will never null, and if it did I would only feel it again within a few hours!_

"Alright dear, I'll wait until you're finished." Oliver spoke as he turned and walked down the stairs then he smiled. He walked to the kitchen and got the boy a glass of water. He took it to him as he opened his bedroom door and sat it on his nightstand before heading downstairs once more.

Oliver was standing outside facing the wood-line as he sighed. He was secretly hoping that the colony would return soon.

Al could only stare at Oliver's body walking to and away, his eyesight going in and out as he never understood why he stopped holding him after he hurt him— He longed for his touch, for those fingertips to dive into his hair and reassure him. All he ever wanted was to be loved, to be touched, and never would he realize how badly that would get him in trouble later on. He grunted more, feeling the arsenic travel down his abdomen. "I forsake God,..." lips whispered, knowing he would be all alone.

Matt stormed back shortly as he opened the door, as if he had an internal clock before dark was about to set in. Eyes laid onto Oliver, then up the stairs. "Is dinner ready yet?" He looked up the stairs, not looking towards Oliver at all.

"It is. Al will be with us,… shortly." He was doing a bit of cleaning when the brother had stomped in. "Poor darling had a stomach ache." his tone always so sweet, anyone who didn't know him couldn't tell anything about the intent he had, but the boys knew all too well.

"Matt, take off your boots please." He said calmly as he sensed the older brother tense up.

Matt's only emotion he ever knew was really a worry or caution, eyes nodding as he placed his boots on the mat. "A stomach ache, aye?"

"Yes. I brought him a glass of water to ease the pain. If he's not down soon, I'll go and check on him." Oliver sat town the towel and turned to face the colony. "You did an excellent job cutting out the tenderloin today. It fried up quite nicely."

Oliver could cook without any poison and since the favorite would be at home and eating for the first time, in a long time, he made sure not to put arsenic in anything. Part of him felt like Al was punished enough... At least for today. He laughed mentally at the irony, he had poisoned the poor child for years, his body often had stomach aches even if there was no arsenic.

Matt looked up at the stairs, "He's going to beat you down one day, old man. You realize that, don't you?" His purple hues then focused on England.

"I want that day..." He spoke as he drew closer to the man that stood before him. "I wanted to ensure that you two wouldn't be lost, to time, the best way I knew how." He stared back at him as he challenged the boy. "I adore him, and hate him at the same time, I've made him and I'll break him. The only reason he even waits for you is because you comfort him. If I started comforting him, he would be all mine and you could be free... Would you want that? Would you want to leave your little brother here with me? Never to know his touch or his voice again? He is changing, but it's more of an evolution than a complete makeover." He sighed. "Or, we can continue our little ordeals and when your brother requests it, I will drop him off in his own little world and you will remain my dog for all time. Your choice."

Matt stared down Oliver, they were the same height at his age now. "I don't know what I want."

"You should decide soon, my little pet." He spoke as he walked past the colony. "I'll check on Al, poor darling must have a really bad stomach ache." Oliver grabbed up a small pouch and hoped that the water was untouched, the seltzer tab he gathered would make the boy feel settled in moments, maybe it was time to show the unruly beta who the alpha of the family really was.

"Al, dear?" He walked in and saw the glass untouched as he placed a small bit of the seltzer into the water and moved over to the colony.

Al was shaking hard by this point, the stinging of his shoulder and the stomach pain by the tissue in his lining sweltered and made him roll back and forth in pain, it had been quite a few weeks since he had done this much 'bellyaching' on the subject. The saliva in his mouth was dry, only the pain was felt. A deep, wrenching sting as if his stomach was being eaten alive from the inside out.

"Here poppet." the nation spoke in a gentle manner as he did when the colonies were just wee tots. "This will help your stomach. Let me see your shoulder." He spoke as he handed him the glass of water and then he looked into the cupboard for a bottle of liquid that served as an antiseptic.

Al had already re-done his wound wrapping, and Oliver could tell especially from the way the sheets were cut up on the bed. Al smacked the glass away, groaning as he turned his back to him. He was certainly getting spiteful.

"Come now, I'll show you it's not poison, then will you drink it?" He asked the colony as he was actually worried. "Come on now. Be a good lad." He spoke as he gently ran his hand through Al's soft hair.

Al's eyes grew furious, whether it was the hormones or the new self-confidence he just grew, crimson eyes darkened and haunted into Oliver's gaze when he abruptly turned his head. Oliver had never seen that look on Al. It was too late, the fingertips that would usually coo and soothe him only made him more furious. His expression didn't soften, he didn't hiss in pain, he only stared hatefully at the man that had caused him so much. His mind was blank, and his demeanor certainly wasn't the Al that Oliver had been raising—

"Al?" He spoke softly. As he looked at the colony next to him. "Al? Answer me lad." He spoke as he moved over to him and gazed down. He was trying to examine him, something in his eyes. Then he realized, that somehow, someway—that wasn't his sweet little broken Al anymore.

A curdled sound grew into his throat, and before he knew it there not a pain or whimper anymore. The sound grew, and he pursed his lips as he spit right on England's face with a giant swab of saliva. He gauged his reaction, a twisted smirk crossing his face while those red crimson's were on fire.

Oliver for a split moment was in pure shock. Confused was the correct term, then the look quickly turned to disgust and then anger. "You fucking bastard!" He screamed at the colony under him. "How dare you! You spawn of the devil!" He smacked the boy underneath him.

His head turned eerily towards him again, "Smack me again, you little piece of shit." his voice wasn't even Al's, it was smooth and deep. No fluctuation or expression was centered other than that ominous tone that would ring from the bottom of his lungs as his hands gripped Oliver's hips with great force. The strength of being an American was surely kicking in for this teenager.

"What the hell are you? You aren't my son." He spoke as he looked genuinely shocked. He was aroused at the sound of his voice, by the position they were in. "Al." He groaned in a soft whisper. "Hit me Al—Do it, hit me, and I'll hit you and then—"

He wrapped his hands around his colony's neck. "Please—"

"I'm not giving you the fucking pleasure of what you want, you pitiful excuse for an empire. Enough to where you have to pick on little kids..." He sat up, smirking at his father figure while their lips were merely inches apart. "My name... is Tommy..."

"Pitiful?" He growled smacking the country again. He looked at him and gazed into those enraged eyes. "Well, Tommy... How about you give me Al back? Hm? You horrible hell spawn." He spoke as he took the antiseptic and poured it into the wound, so it would alleviate his pain. He was fantasizing about being over the colony under him, moaning his name and crying out for more. Oliver was trying to keep his current internal battle separate.

"I'm not sorry for what I'm about to do. I'll never be sorry. You've hurt him enough to where it's time I come out—"

A stark hand covered England's neck as he began to choke him. The eyes he had slivered into almost that of snake, staring at him while smirking as he saw him struggling. Motions for him made this easy, his hurt arm only giving him a mild satisfaction as if it were a bug bite at this point. The strength of Tommy was something that England had only witnessed since Russia, as he was soon smacked to the wall while the looming figure stood on his knees and hissed at him.

"Horrible disobedient little shit of a colony." He seethed in between uncertain breaths. He was squirming trying to free himself. "I'm sorry, America." He spoke in a coyly matter trying to if in any way draw out the pathetic creature that was Al, compared to this hulking demon that now had the British empire in his grasp. He gazed up at the creature that stood before him. At this moment, faced with true concern for his mortality he regretted all the torture he had done. 'Fucking Matthew... That little shit knew that Al was no better than me.'

Matt was nonchalantly eating dinner silently as he heard the house go completely quiet, there was a chill down his spine. He knew that Tommy was around. Just something that hung in the air all about it was all wrong, and he shook his head as he ate. "Damn good meal you made old man,..." is all he said, eating to his heart's content.

Al's tongue slid out as leaned down and licked Oliver right along his freckled cheek. "We're going to have fun, Oliver Kirkland..." his body shadowed him as he stood up and stared straight down, taking his fist and repeatedly hitting Oliver in the face. It was something personal, something abrupt, and he was too strong to the point where he couldn't help but stop. His bad arm held his neck, as the other fist began wailing on his face until he couldn't even tell who Oliver was from the bruising, the bleeding, and the pus-filled swelling.

Oliver no longer had the will to speak, however he was enjoying it the entire time. Watching the blood coat his fist, the snapping of bone, and the emotionless face. Oliver was smiling inwardly as he endured the beating. This was magical, why hadn't Tommy come earlier? Now he knew the key, he was so pleased that he had decided he wanted to keep Al, but was it too late? Could he actually pin down this crazy animal of a man who was mauling his face?

The man was raw, concentrated, and wanting to make it where Oliver couldn't see because his eyes would be so swollen. Teeth gritted as he began to thrust his fist into him heavier, hurting his own hand as he took Ollie by the hair and gripped it tight, dragging him throughout the house and to the flight of stairs. The bloody trail left a clear mark on the ground as he dragged his hurt body, only cackling as he jerked Oliver's head clear to the stairs and gave him a blunt push to gravitate him head first down the stairway.

At this point Oliver's body had endured enough to plummet him into unconsciousness. Maybe he was sleeping, it was hard to tell actually, but he was laying there. As still as death, he listened to the tanned colony move about, hopefully to do something else other than pummel him.

Matt overheard the body hit the bottom of the stairs, smirking as he cleaned his plate. "Oh, hey old man. Your dinner is getting cold. You should come up here and get it, or are you too old to get up?"

He waited for a response, "... Well, I suppose you're not eating deer tonight. Damn good job you did..."

Al saw him lifeless, and without any further ado he wiped the blood smear off his cheek and slid the finger into his mouth, staring down at him as the blood covered his white shirt under his suspenders. With that, he walked himself down the stairs slowly as he slicked back his hair and stepped over Oliver's slightly unconscious body to retrieve his shoes. Putting them on, he stared at Oliver. "What's wrong, pops? Can't—GET IT UP?" He laughed as he laced his old shoes.

Matt shook his head, "Sometimes revenge is a dish best served cold... or in this sense, bloody."

Oliver could barely move. He was barely breathing. His mind swimming with enraged thoughts, and how Matt would pay for those comments. Then there was a part of him that was enamored at the thought of being controlled by something he had made, his creations were magnificent, just a few things were needed to perfect Al, and now just to relax and let him release this rage.

Al stepped on Oliver as if he were a welcome mat going back up the stairs, hearing his bones cracking as he walked his shoes all over him by sliding and grinding the sole against his body. "hmm... can't go into town looking like a _pauper_ now can I, _sunshine_?" he began to step up the stairs, smirking as he called to matt. "I'll be back later." His footsteps vanished throughout the house as he walked to the mirror, easily stepping through it.

Matt shook his head, "Only time he misses an arsenic free diner, that bastard..."


End file.
